


The Sins of His Father

by Quinny_555



Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [3]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019), Supernatural
Genre: BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Don't Have To Know About Supernatural (TV), Gen, Ghosts, Ghosts Are Just Out Here Being Vengeful, Haunting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It's Pretty Background, John Watkins is an Asshole, Malcolm Bright Likes Smoothies, Malcolm Bright Needs a Hug, Malcolm Bright Whump, Protective Gil Arroyo, Protective Sam Winchester, The Girl in the Box is Spooky, The Team is Concerned, There is Also a Case Going On Here, huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22826617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quinny_555/pseuds/Quinny_555
Summary: He never really believed in God, or a higher power; that being said, Malcolm was pretty sure he was being haunted by his father’s last victim. The girl in the box. The subject of his most intense nightmares. He had always thought that “haunted” was an apt descriptor for himself, but he had never considered that it could be literal.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright, Malcolm Bright & Dani Powell, Malcolm Bright & JT Tarmel, Malcolm Bright & Sam Winchester, Malcolm Bright & The Girl in the Box
Series: Carry On My Prodigal Son [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636342
Comments: 30
Kudos: 167





	1. Accident... Well, Incident Prone

Malcolm Bright never considered himself to be a particularly religious or spiritual person. In fact, while he recognized that organized religions could be good in theory, he openly detested most of them in practice. He never really believed in God, or a higher power; that is, he didn't before he learned that the supernatural was real. While he was still skeptical about God, it was pretty hard to deny that monsters exist after everything he had experienced. 

That being said, Malcolm was pretty sure he was being haunted by his father’s last victim. The girl in the box. The subject of his most intense nightmares. He had always thought that “haunted” was an apt descriptor for himself, but he had never considered that it could be literal. 

The idea took hold when Sam showed him his proof that the supernatural is real. The ghost of the girl in the video was… unsettling, but familiar. The way she moved, her almost translucent form, how she seemed like she would disappear at any given moment. It all reminded him of the girl in the box. The way that she had physically harmed Sam and Dean despite her less than corporeal form made him think back to the night he had almost stabbed Eve. The Girl had choked him, and there had been bruises. They were faint enough for him to be able to write them off, but obvious enough for him to feel uneasy about it. 

The night he learned about the supernatural he was once again visited by the girl in the box. He had just locked himself into his restraints when he heard it. Quiet weeping coming from the top of the stairs. Frowning, he got out of bed to investigate despite the sudden chill of the room. 

“Hello?” he called as he walked carefully up the stairs. He reached the top, but there was no one there. He looked around, opened the door to his closet, but there was nothing. He turned to walk back down the stairs when he felt the temperature in the room drop even lower. 

It felt like something shoved him. There was the distinct feeling of small, cold hands on his shoulders before he was tumbling down the wooden stairs. He heard a distinct crack before he felt the pain. But the pain did come. It felt like fire had engulfed his wrist and he laid there at the bottom of the stairs, stunned. He looked to the side at the sound of quiet footsteps. 

“Twenty years,” she whispered. He groaned as he knelt beside him. “Find me.” 

And then she was gone. He groaned and stumbled to his feet, still dazed by what had just happened. He knew he had to get to the hospital, as he was now sure that his wrist was broken, but he was faced with a dilemma. On one hand, he couldn't drive himself in this state; on the other hand, he didn't want to worry anyone with his late-night injuries. 

He wound up calling an Uber. 

~~~ 

Bright knew that his colleagues would worry when he came into work with a wrist cast and colorful bruising, but staying home would look even more suspicious. So no, he was not surprised when Dani started questioning him as soon as he walked into the precinct. 

“You fell?” she did not sound convinced, as he had known she wouldn't. None of them would, but he didn't have anything else to tell them. 

“Yep,” he said, trying to sound casual as he looked through the cases he had been asked to consult on for other detectives. He looked up when she didn't say anything back. She scrutinized him and, upon realizing that she would get nothing else out of him, relented. 

“Okay,” was all she said, but he knew that she was still speculating. 

JT’s reaction was much less calm. 

“What the fuck happened?” he growled upon seeing the spectacular bruising on Bright’s face and the cast on his arm. 

“He ‘fell’ down the stairs,” Dani said in a way that clearly conveyed her skepticism. Malcolm looked at her in betrayal as JT turned back to him. 

“Bullshit,” JT immediately said. 

“It’s true,” Malcolm recognized that saying that made it sound even less true. 

“It was that Sam guy, wasn't it?” JT demanded. Malcolm sputtered, having momentarily forgotten that JT and Sam had even met. And that JT almost shot him. 

“No, of course not!” he exclaimed as Dani whipped her head around to look at him. Even he could recognize that he sounded nervous, but that was for a completely different reason than what they thought. 

“Who's Sam?” she asked, looking between them. Malcolm knew that the way that he answered this question would determine whether or not his team would try to frame his friend for domestic abuse. JT already suspected that they were dating, and if he denied it Sam would look even more guilty by default… 

“My boyfriend,” he blurted. Both of his teammates looked like they had been slapped. 

“Boyfriend?” Dani said, having momentarily forgotten what they were grilling him about before.

“No fuckin way,” JT muttered. 

“Yes,” Malcolm said, deciding that it was too late to go back now. “And he had nothing to do with this.” he gestured to himself. 

“Well then where was he when you were falling down the stairs? Did he drive you to the hospital?” Dani asked, eyeing his cast. 

“He doesn't know about what happened; hell, he’s not even in town right now.” that seemed to mollify them. For now. 

“Geez, Bright, you really are the most accident-prone person I’ve ever met,” Dani said, shaking her head in bemusement. Malcolm laughed. 

“Yeah, well, I’m inclined to agree with you,” he said. 

“JT, Bright, Dani, we’ve got a ca- what the hell happened to you?” Malcolm sighed as he turned to face his mentor. He could already tell that today was going to be a long day. 

~~~ 

“Oh my god, what happened?” Edrisa said as soon as she saw him. While he knew that everyone was just concerned for him, he was getting really tired of explaining it. He was dreading seeing his mother and Ainsley. 

“Fell,” he said shortly, giving her a smile. “What have you got for us?” 

“Well… okay,” she said, frowning at him before continuing with the case. “Our victim is an unidentified man in his late thirties. The cause of death is, ah, the bullet to the back of his head. He died around 9:00 last night. But you know what’s interesting?” She picked up one of his hands and showed them his fingers. 

“His fingerprints were burned off,” Bright murmured, frowning as he looked at the victim’s fingertips. “The scarring is old… this was done before he was killed. At least a few months ago, but I'm thinking longer.” 

“Exactly,” Edrisa said excitedly. 

“So, this guy, what, burned off his own fingerprints?” JT asked disgustedly. 

“Or someone else did, but… I don't think so,” Malcolm said. 

“No, no that makes sense,” Dani said. “When I was undercover, I noticed that some of the big players in the game didn't want to be able to be identified by fingerprint. They would do the same thing. Some of them even made their lackeys do it, in case they were able to be traced back to them.” 

“So, you think this guy was involved in some shady stuff?” Gil asked as he approached, having heard the tail end of the conversation. JT snorted.

“How many people who _aren't_ involved in shady stuff end up getting killed execution-style in a shitty apartment building?” JT said rhetorically. 

“More than you’d probably think,” Bright said offhandedly as he continued to inspect the corpse. JT rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat to it. 

“Oh, yeah,” he remarked sarcastically. “I'm sure it happens to loads of people.” 

“Well,” Dani said as she hung up with whoever she was on the phone with. “Looks like our vic is the current resident of this apartment.” 

“Yeah?” JT said, leaning over to get a look at the photo on her screen. 

“Oh yeah,” she replied. “Meet Mr. John Doe.” 


	2. Maybe Jessica Should Make a Habit of knocking

Malcolm slipped away from the team as they continued to speculate about the victim, and who he could have been. The name had obviously been fake, and he paid his rent in cash. So far, they had nothing on him. 

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Sam’s number. He tapped his foot lightly on the pavement as he waited. While he didn't want anyone to overhear his conversation and think he was crazy, he also didn't want  _ her _ to hear it if he was home. 

_ “Hello?”  _ Sam answered. 

“Uh, hey Sam,” he said, not quite sure how to start the conversation. 

_ “What’s up?” _ he asked attentively. 

“Well, I, uh, think I’m being haunted,” he said with a little laugh at just how absurd it sounded. 

_ “What?”  _ Sam demanded.  _ “Why? Did something happen? Are you alright?”  _

“Yeah, no, I'm fine,” he said reassuringly. “Mostly,” he tacked on. 

_ “Mostly? Malcolm, what happened?”  _

“She pushed me down the stairs, but no irreversible damage had been done,” he said, genuinely thinking that that was something reassuring. It wasn't. 

_ “Jesus, Mal, I'll be there by tomorrow morning.”  _ Malcolm’s eyes widened. 

“That might not be a good idea,” he blurted. 

_ “Why? We need to figure this out before anything worse happens to you,”  _

“Well, my team might think that you are abusing me,” he knew he was digging himself a hole, but, well, what else was he supposed to do? 

_ “Is- is there a reason?”  _ Sam sounded a little offended, but more confused than anything else. 

“JT saw you in my apartment the other day. You remember, he almost shot you?” 

_ “Yes, I vaguely recall,”  _ he sarcastically replied. 

“Well, that’s their reason. There’s more to it than that, but,” 

_ “You can tell me when I get there,”  _ Sam said. Malcolm groaned. 

“I'm not going to change your mind, am I?” 

_ “Not even a little,”  _

“Fine. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

When he got back inside the other team members were packing up their things. 

“I'll drive you home,” Gil said as he pulled on his coat. Malcolm wanted to protest, but one look from Gil made him think better of it. 

“Thanks,” he said instead. Gil seemed satisfied with that response. 

“Great. And on the way you can tell me about this boyfriend of yours,” Malcolm ran his good hand through his hair. 

“Sure,” he muttered in defeat as he followed Gil out of the station. “Why not?”

~~~ 

Sam knew that it was early. Most people weren't awake at 5:00 in the morning, but he also knew that Malcolm Bright was not most people. 

“Sam!” Malcolm said cheerily as Sam reached the top of the stairs. Sam was disappointed, but not surprised to see that Malcolm was injured. “You can put your bag down next to the couch.” he gestured to the furniture with his casted hand. His other hand was holding some sort of pink smoothie. If Sam was a betting man, money would be on raspberry. 

He did as he was bid and moved to sit next to Malcolm at the breakfast bar. 

“Breakfast?” he asked, clearly hoping to avoid the inevitable conversation. 

“Sure. Could I use your shower? I've been driving all night.” 

“Of course,” Malcolm said, already moving around the kitchen. 

Malcolm watched Sam walk into the bathroom and sighed. He knew that he would have to tell him eventually, but he was certainly dreading it. Despite the contrary belief, Malcolm was pretty good at cooking, and his kitchen was always stocked. He found eggs, bell peppers, onions, garlic, mushrooms, and cheese. He was almost done making Sam’s Omelette when he heard his from door open. 

“Malcolm!” his mother called and he froze.  _ Shit.  _

“Hello, mother,” he said as casually as he could as she reached the top of the stairs. She paused as she took in the scene before her. Malcolm almost never cooked, especially not for himself. 

“What… are you doing?” she asked. 

“I’m making breakfast,” he said as though this was something he did every day. 

“Right…” she let the sentence trail off and raised an eyebrow. Malcolm heard the bathroom door open and silently cursed the unfortunate timing. Sam stepped out. His hair was still damp and he had no shirt on. 

“I left my,” Sam didn't finish the sentence as he caught sight of Malcolm’s mother. “Um. Hi.” 

“Hello,” she purred as she shamelessly looked him up and down. 

“Mother, this is Sam.” Malcolm gestured with his casted had. Sam waved awkwardly. 

“I'll just, uh,” he walked over to his bag, grabbed a shirt, and practically bolted back to the bathroom. Jessica watched him go and turned back to her son with an expectant look on her face. 

“Just making breakfast, huh?” she said with a little laugh. She continued before he could protest. “Well, don't let me interrupt.” 

She began to make her way toward the stairs before pausing and looking back at her son. 

“You really should be more careful at work, Malcolm,” she muttered. He didn't have the heart to tell her that his most recent injuries were not work-related. 

“Of course. Goodbye, mother.” As soon as the front door closed Sam emerged from the bathroom. He was wearing a shirt this time, which Malcolm found himself both relieved and disappointed about. 

“So… that was your mother?” Sam was still slightly flushed from embarrassment. Malcolm flipped the omelet onto a plate and turned back to Sam. 

“Yeah, sorry about her,” he replied as he set the omelet down in front of him. 

“Thank you,” he said as he dug in. “Now, what are you trying to avoid talking about by feeding me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, this chapter really kicked my ass.


	3. Sam is Not Exactly John Watkins' Biggest Fan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for the record, the Supernatural timeline is all over the place. I low key hate the most recent seasons, so we're just going to pretend that they never happened.

“So yes, my team thinks that you are my boyfriend, they suspect that you did this to me, we have a case with some guy who doesn't want to be identified, and I am being haunted by an increasingly violent spirit because my father murdered her and may or may not have made me help.” Malcolm recapped the whole story in one chaotic sentence. Sam took a moment to process it, to make a plan. 

“Alright,” he said at last. “It looks like we need to talk to someone who knows what actually happened on that camping trip.” 

“Well, my father has been frustratingly closed-lipped about the whole thing. He won’t even admit that she existed in the first place,” Malcolm said, scowling. 

“Then we won’t go to your father.” Malcolm blanched, instantly understanding what Sam meant. 

“Watkins,” he whispered. His hand was shaking and he clamped his other one over it to stem the involuntary movement. “H-he would know, wouldn't he?” 

“Malcolm,” Sam said softly. Malcolm, who had been avoiding his eyes, looked up. “You know that you don't have to talk to him, right?” 

“No, no, it's fine,” Malcolm replied hurriedly, eyes darting to the side as his breathing sped up. “I can see him. I don't need to be coddled, he- he didn't even really  _ do _ anything to me.” Sam may not exactly be the most qualified person when it came to dealing with trauma (unlike Malcolm, he never even considered going to a therapist), but he’s had enough panic attacks to recognize the signs. His eyes had that cloudy look that told Sam that part of him was stuck in the past. 

He gripped Malcolm’s shoulders and guided him to sit on the ground. Malcolm flinched, but let Sam move his head between his knees once he was sitting. They sat like that for what felt like a long time. Sam patiently rubbed circles into his back and murmured comforting nonsense that, for some reason, made him feel better. Sam didn't rush him, even when he got his breathing back under control. Sam began to hum a familiar song. Something by The Beatles he couldn't remember the name of. Eventually, the song ended and Malcolm pulled his head out from between his knees. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked quietly. Malcolm didn't want to look at Sam, to see the pity in his gaze. When he finally did look up, he was surprised to see no pity in the way he was looking at him. All he could see was concern and understanding. Empathy. 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sorry.” 

“Don't apologize. What he did to you? None of it is your fault.” Sam said it with so much conviction that Malcolm could almost believe it himself. 

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Watkins plead insanity, so his-” Malcolm paused as his phone rang. 

_ “Bright, we got a break in the case. We need you to come down to the station,”  _ Dani said without preamble when he answered. Malcolm had forgotten about the case. 

“Alright, I’ll be there in twenty,” he said and hung up. He glanced at Sam apologetically. “They need me at work.” 

“I’ll stay here and look more into who the girl could be,” Sam said. 

“Great. I'll see you later,” Malcolm said as he practically ran out the door. Sam watched him go and sighed. There were only so many hospitals for the criminally insane in New York City. He figured that it wouldn't be that difficult to find which one John Watkins had been sent to after his conviction. 

Time to pay the bastard a visit. 

~~~ 

Sam was not usually a violent person. Sure, being violent was sometimes necessary for his job, but it was generally not his first resort. That being said, he was sure that he could kill the man in front of him without hesitation and not feel bad about it. 

“Hello, Mr. Watkins.” The man continued to stare him down, scrutinizing him. Sam opened his mouth to say something else when John spoke up. 

“You're here for something,” he muttered. “And you're obviously not a cop. So, what  _ are _ you here for?” 

“I came to ask about one of your victims,” Sam said, keeping his voice level. Watkins grinned at him. 

“What, did I kill a family member? Not sure if I’ll remember, but ask away,” he grinned. Sam glared but continued. 

“The camping trip that you went on with Martin Whitly,” Sam said. “The girl you killed. Who was she? More importantly, I need to know where she is now.” 

“Oh, you’re not here for someone I killed,” Watkins said, eyes widening with the realization. “You're here for Malcolm.” He laughed hysterically. The sound echoed off of the barren metal walls. 

“The girl. Where is she?” 

“Oh, this is too good. He’s still hung up on her? He still thinks that finding her will assuage his guilt? Does he think it will  _ fix _ him?” Sam clenched his fists. He considered making the man in front of him regret what he had said. He considered making him regret what he had done to Malcolm. Oh, he considered. But he also recognized that Castiel could do more to him than Sam ever could. 

“God doesn't answer sinners,” Watkins hissed when he heard Sam’s muttered prayer. 

“Good thing he wasn't talking to God,” a rumbling voice said from behind Sam. Watkins nearly fell out of his seat in shock at Castiel’s sudden appearance. 

“W-what are you?” Watkins stuttered as Cas approached him. 

“You may call me Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord.” Watkins could only shake his head as the angel approached. “And you will tell me where the girl is.” 

Sam figured that Castiel had done something to soundproof the room. He was sure that, otherwise, everyone in the building would have been able to hear Watkins’ screams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This rant is unrelated to the story, so you don't have to read it. (TW slurs)   
> Just, like, why can't some people just not say slurs? It's not that hard, just fucking don't. Not a lesbian? don't say d*ke. Not a gay man? don't say f*got. Not a black person? don't say the n-word. It's not that hard to not be a shitty person. Some people are really out here like "sir, that's my emotional support slur" and it shows. like, if hearing it directed at you from another person doesn't make you nervous or, god forbid, afraid, then guess what? You don't get to say it! A crazy concept, I know. Sorry for the rant, I'm just having a bit of a time.


	4. Just Being A Good Pal

“Forensics came back,” Edrisa said as she walked into the conference room holding a file. “The bullet was for a 22., but it wasn't shot out of a gun.” 

“It what?” Dani asked, frowning. 

“The weapon wasn't a gun, at least, not a real one. The bullet didn't have the telltale markings that the barrel of a gun makes,” she explained. 

“The killer used a zip gun?” Malcolm asked, stepping forward to take the file from Edrisa. She handed it to him and nodded. 

“That's what it looks like,” she said in agreement. 

“A zip gun? Does that stand for something?” JT asked, shifting forward in his chair. 

“No, at least, I don't think so. A zip gun is a homemade gun that is made out of pipes, generally. Anyone can look up how to make one online, but making one that actually works? That takes skill, or at least practice. They're extremely unreliable and have to be fired at close range to work.” he paced the room as he spoke, pausing only once he had finished his rant. 

“So the killer used an untraceable weapon and left behind no evidence other than the body and one bullet?” Dani thought for a moment before continuing. “It looks like the killer knew what he was doing. This sounds like a professional hit.” 

“I'll get Gil on the phone,” JT said as he stood. “If the guy was paid to conduct the hit he was probably paid for other ones, too.” 

“Oh, there’s another thing you might want to know,” Edrisa said. “Our vic was blackout drunk. Like, completely wasted.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Malcolm murmured. “Thank you, Edrisa.” She smiled at him and hurried back to her lab. He continued to stare at the board until he felt Dani staring holes into his back. He turned around and gave her a questioning look. 

“Is Sam back in town?” she asked. 

“Yeah, how did you know that?” his brow furrowed slightly. She smirked at him. 

“Your mother is a very chatty woman,” she replied. Her smug smile turned into a grin when Malcolm groaned at that. 

“Of course she is,” he muttered. “And for the record, yes, he got here this morning.” 

“From what your mother said, he’s quite the sight. When do we get to meet the ‘giant of a man’?” she teased. Malcolm was going to have to talk to his mother about her gossiping to his friends about his personal life. 

“I don't know, Dani, for his sake I hope that it’s never-” there was a small knock on the open door to the conference room. Dani’s eyes widened slightly at whoever was there and Malcolm honestly didn't even want to turn around. He did, of course, and was not surprised to see Sam standing in the doorway. He was, however, pleasantly surprised to see that he was holding a to-go cup from his favorite smoothie place. 

“Hi,” Sam said, giving Dani a charming smile and a wave. He stepped into the room and gave Malcolm a sheepish look. He handed him the smoothie- a clear peace offering. Malcolm begrudgingly took the drink and turned back to Dani. 

“Dani, this is Sam,” he gestured to the giant man, who was now standing beside him. He gestured to Dani and craned his neck to look at Sam. “Sam, this is Dani.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Sam said, stepping forward to shake her hand. “I've heard a lot about you.” 

“Good things, I hope,” she said, glancing at Malcolm. 

“Definitely,” Sam said, grinning at her. His smile was contagious and she found herself smiling back. 

“Is there a, uh, reason you came?” Malcolm asked. 

“I just thought I would bring you lunch.” he gestured to the smoothie cup. He held up a paper bag that Malcolm hadn't noticed before. “And remind you that you can’t live off of just smoothies.” Malcolm made a disgusted face and gripped his smoothie cup a little tighter. Sam sighed and looked at him with his puppy dog eyes. Oh, that was unfair. 

“Fine, I'll… try it.” he glared but there was no heat to it. “But I make no promises,” he tacked on. Sam smiled and handed him the bag. 

“That's all I ask for,” he said. Though he didn't want to eat (when did he ever) he could recognize that the gesture was sweet. 

“Thanks,” he said, giving Sam a smile. Sam’s own smile turned devilish and he wrapped his arm around Malcolm's waist. 

“No problem,” he said, giving him a peck on the cheek. Malcolm felt his face heat up. “I'll pick you up at nine!” Sam called out cheerily as he practically bolted out the door before Malcolm could consider throwing something at his retreating form. 

“He seems nice,” Dani said. Malcolm had half-forgotten she was here and turned back to her. 

“Um, yeah,” he said. His face was still warm and he cursed his pale complexion. He held up the bag. “D’you want a sandwich?” 

“Nope. Sam’s right, you can't survive off of smoothies alone.” she shook her head. He sighed and acknowledged to himself that they were right. In his defense, he had eaten lunch with Ainsley the day before. And his smoothies always had lots of nutrients in them, so they really shouldn't worry. 

JT walked into the room and glanced at the food Malcolm sat on the table. 

“What, and you didn't bring us anything?” he teased as he passed the profiler. 

“Actually, his boyfriend brought that for him,” Dani said. 

“Did he now?” JT asked, narrowing his eyes slightly. Dani elbowed him lightly in the ribs. 

“Yeah. You’d think I would have fallen down the stairs because of my eating habits with the way he insists on feeding me,” he muttered offhandedly. JT hummed but didn't comment further. Malcolm was just glad that Sam seemed to have won Dani over. Now if he could just forget the butterflies he felt when Sam had kissed his cheek, he’d be all set. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just realized that the title of this fic reads like a Buzzfeed Unsolved episode lol. In addition to that, it looks like my traitorous muse has decided that Sam and Malcolm would be gr8 together, so I guess that's where we're going then.


	5. Moving On

They hadn't made much progress on their case, and Malcolm went to the bathroom to rinse his still bruised face. It was almost time for Sam to pick him up and he found himself dreading the conversation he would eventually be having with John Watkins. He leaned his elbows on the counter and let his face fall into his hands. He stayed like that for several moments, just breathing and collecting his thoughts. He tensed when the temperature dropped abruptly. He whipped his head up to look for her translucent form, which stood behind him. 

“Why haven't you found me?” she hissed. His pale eyes widened as she gripped his shoulders and threw him several paces away. He landed on his bruised back, effectively knocking the air out of his lungs. “I had a name. A family. A  _ life, _ ” he heard her hiss angrily. 

“What-” he coughed. “Is that all you want?” 

“I just want to  _ rest _ .” the last word of her sentence came out sounding more like a sob than anything else. 

Two things happened simultaneously. She appeared above him and he noted that her hollow eyes were red-rimmed, like she had been crying; JT walked into the bathroom looking for his friend, who had been gone for a conspicuous amount of time. JT froze as he took in the scene before him. The girl turned slowly to look at him and Malcolm panicked; he could handle what she did to him, he knew he deserved it, but JT hadn't done anything to warrant her wrath. He supposed that didn't matter much to her, though, and she appeared in front of JT and pinned him to the wall. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Malcolm hissed as he checked his pockets for the salt he decided to keep with him after the first attack. He pulled his aching body up and threw a small handful of salt at the ghost. She disappeared with a shriek and JT slumped against the wall, gasping. “Shit, are you okay?” Malcolm managed, still out of breath. 

“I don't think I've ever heard you curse before,” JT said, looking dazed. 

“That's what you're focusing on?” Malcolm asked, stunned. 

“Well, that’s a hell of a lot easier than trying to process… whatever just happened.” 

“Tell me about it,” Malcolm muttered as he pulled himself off of the dirty tile. This long day just got a hell of a lot longer. 

~~~ 

“I would tell you that you're crazy if I hadn't just seen it myself,” JT said, shaking his head. Gil was off following up on the possible case transfer, so they were using his unoccupied office for this conversation. 

“I'm not so sure I'm  _ not _ crazy,” Malcolm admitted, holding his still aching ribs. 

“So, Sam really isn't responsible for this, huh?” JT gestured at Malcolm’s injuries. Malcolm shook his head. He considered telling JT that they also weren't even dating, but… 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he smiled at Sam’s name blinking on the screen. 

“Hey,” he answered. 

_ “Hey, I'm parked outside,”  _ Sam said. 

“I'll be out soon,” Malcolm told him and hung up. He turned back to JT to see the older man frowning at him. 

“Are you actually gonna be okay? At least, your crazy ass version of it?” he asked seriously, clearly eyeing Malcolm's current condition.

“Of course,” Malcolm said, giving JT a smile that looked more like a grimace. 

“Huh,” JT said, but didn't comment further as Malcolm left the room. 

Sam was idling by the curb when Malcolm stepped out of the station. He got into the car and pulled on his seatbelt as Sam pulled away from the curb. He started driving in the opposite direction of Watkins’ mental hospital. 

“Oh, it’s actually the other way,” Malcolm said, turning to Sam when the man didn't answer. Sam was exhibiting a few stress reactions; under normal circumstances, or with anyone else, he would assume that they were just nervous about meeting a serial killer. But Sam was a good liar, and he had seen plenty of things worse than John Watkins… “What aren't you telling me?” 

“We… aren't going to see Watkins.” 

“Why is that?” It wasn't that he didn't trust Sam, but they did still need to find out where she was. 

“I already went. He told me where she is,” he said in a rush to get the words out.

“What? Sam, I told you I could handle it,” Malcolm was a little hurt; did Sam not trust him to interview Watkins? Sam turned those sad, sunflower colored eyes on him. 

“I know you can handle it, Mal. But you don't have to,” he said softly. The tenderness in Sam’s beautiful eyes was too much for Malcolm and he looked away. He told himself that the tears stinging the back of his eyes and the warmth pooling in his chest were the result of him finally being able to put the girl to rest; it was most definitely not because of the display of how much Sam cared about him, how he acted as though he  _ deserved _ everything Sam did for him. He took a deep breath and tried to shake those thoughts off. 

“Thank you, Sam,” he whispered, barely audible over the rumble of the car’s engine and the music playing quietly on the radio. Sam seemed to make a split-second decision and reached out to grab Malcolm’s hand. His grip was loose, silently communicating that Malcolm could break the contact if he wanted to. Malcolm found that he really didn't want to; his hands were always cold, and Sam was so, so warm. 

“I don't think we have to burn her,” Malcolm said after a while, breaking the near silence in the car. 

“Malcolm,” Sam started, but Malcolm cut him off. 

“No, no, hear me out,” he insisted. Sam indicated for him to continue with a nod of his head. “She appeared at my work today,” he felt Sam’s grip on his hand tighten slightly and he squeezed back comfortingly. “She said that she just wanted to be put to rest. That she had a life, a family that still doesn't know what happened to her. Twenty years is a long time to wait for closure, Sam.” 

“We’ll see how things play out,” Sam said, allowing for flexibility without making any promises he couldn't keep. The rest of the ride was spent in comfortable silence as they both firmly ignored the new development in their relationship. 

~~~ 

When Castiel appeared out of nowhere Malcolm flinched so hard Sam worried he was going to jump out of his skin. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, automatically looking to Sam to see if he should be worried. Sam didn't look too surprised at the man’s sudden appearance, so Malcolm tried to ignore the blatant strangeness of it. 

“Mal, this is Castiel. Castiel, this is Malcolm.” Sam made short introductions. Castiel didn't seem too anxious to shake hands and that was just fine by Malcolm, who simply nodded at the man (?). Castiel, in turn, decided that it would be appropriate to stare into Malcolm’s sole. Malcolm shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze. Sam turned as if sensing Malcolm’s discomfort and frowned at the angel. 

“Cas, could you please not… stare at my friend?” Castiel blinked. 

“Apologies,” he rumbled and turned away from Malcolm completely. Malcolm got the distinct feeling that this person had never been human before and wasn't used to interacting with people. He also had no anatomical tell… at all. It was disturbing, to say the least. 

“Alright, Cas, lead the way.” Castiel turned back to them and without warning pressed his fingertips to both of their heads. There was a shifting sensation and suddenly they were somewhere else, surrounded by trees. It was all very fast, and the sudden change of scenery felt like too many of his nightmares. He tried to take a deep breath, to better process what was happening, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. Then a large, warm hand encased his and he snapped back to the present. He looked up at Sam and took a deep breath. 

“I’m good,” he said before Sam could ask. “Let's find her.” 

The night was clear and the full moon eliminated the need for flashlights. They walked for a short time, Castiel clearly trying to find her exact location, before he stopped abruptly. He looked down at the ground below his feet. 

“She’s right here,” Castiel said solemnly. He moved aside and Sam moved forward with shovels. Malcolm stepped forward and took one and they got to work. 

Despite how Sam and Dean make it look, grave digging does take a long time and is extremely difficult. Fortunately for them, this grave was not very deep; it was dug quickly by a man anxious to get to the child-killing portion of his excursion. The grave was only about two feet deep and they quickly hit bones. Malcolm wasn't sure why, but he had been expecting her to be… more. Logically, he knew that it only took about twelve years for a body to decompose completely, and that it had been over twenty since she was killed. He supposed that seeing her ghost had given him unrealistic expectations. 

There was the signature temperature drop he had come to associate with her and he turned to see her pale form standing stoically in the moonlight. Sam raised his salt shotgun instinctively, but Malcolm’s arm shot out and pulled it down. There were silent tears sliding down her face when she looked up at him. 

“You found me,” she whispered. Malcolm nodded numbly. She laughed and it ended in a choked sob. “Thank you.” 

“I'm sorry,” he managed around his constricting throat. She stepped closer and he got a good look at her face. She was pretty, he noted absently as her cool hand cupped his cheek. 

“I forgive you,” she told him. He couldn't really explain why, but he was so relieved that she hadn't told him that it’s not his fault, that he had nothing to be sorry for. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again she was gone. There were tears still drying on his face, but he didn't bother to wipe them away. Sam took the job on himself, his warmth washing away the cold that the girl had left behind. For the first time since he was eleven years old, Malcolm Bright felt like he could actually begin to move on from what had happened to the girl in the box; what he had done to her. After all, if she could forgive him, he could forgive himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was long, but I hope the ending was satisfactory. Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and/or left kudos! Y'all really are great :)

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is just wack, guys. My seven-chapter story Fight Club, which I pretty much just finished, is my second most viewed fic. It is trailing behind my thirty-five chapter Criminal Minds fic by just 116 hits. Seriously, that's crazy, y'all are just awesome! :)


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